


Wild Child

by burningSunset



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Friendship, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 14:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14167278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burningSunset/pseuds/burningSunset
Summary: A new family of hobbits settles in Buckland. Their arrival turns upside down the childhood lives of Frodo, Merry and Pippin, and will set in motion the events that will lead to the participation of wolves in the War of the Ring. Alternate Universe. MerryxPippin friendship. FrodoxOC. SamxRosie.





	1. Chapter 1

**WILD CHILD**

by burningSunset

* * *

 

_Now halt your minds and listen to their cry_

_From Northern alters formed of snow and ice,_

_Beneath celestial curtains in their sky,_

_The wolves give evensong of sacrifice._

_~John Hubbard Bidwell~_

* * *

### Prologue

Frodo Baggins was ten years old when he first met Allie Brandybuck, but following that meeting he would not remember for a long time it was then he had seen her for the first time.

On that hot mid-summer evening, Frodo was half-asleep with his head resting against his father's shoulder blades as the latter walked back to their smial on Buck Hill. His mother walked beside them, carrying a basket of groceries in one hand while casually resting the other upon her husband's arm. They made for a steady pace as they climbed upon the hillside.

Tired from playing in the fields all day, Frodo was too sleepy to eat the apple clenched in his small hand. In a half-daze, he listened as his parents, Drogo and Primula, conversed quietly, their voices mingling with the buzzing bees and chirping cicadas on the side of the road. The setting sun projected its last rays of warmth on his back and head. Slumber edged closer and closer as he counted his father's thumping steps on the dirt-paved country road.

_One. Two. One. Two._

Frodo's hand relaxed and the uneaten apple slid from his grasp. It made a hollow thumping sound as it met the earth and subsequently started rolling down the hill, an irregular ball of vibrant red coursing through the green. Primula whirled around, laughing, to chase after the rolling apple. But someone beat her to it. A small foot intercepted the apple's course further down the sinewy road. It belonged to a young hobbit lass in a yellow shirt and brown trousers. She picked up the apple and looked up at the two adults and their sleeping boy, uncertain about what to do.

Finally, she threw a cursory look behind her shoulder and quickly strode up the hill to the hobbit carrying the boy. She stopped in front of him and handed over the fruit on her outstretched hand. Drogo smiled down at her warmly and took it back, offering his heartfelt thanks.

Frodo cracked his eyes open a slit and managed to make out a mass of curly blonde hair half-hidden by his father's frame. Drogo shifted the weight of him on his back and reinserted the fruit into his hand. "Hold on to it tight this time, lad," his father said.

Through his vision half-blurred with sleep, he saw the little lass had lifted her face to look at him, one hand raised to her forehead to shield her eyes from the rays of the setting sun. Even though he couldn't make out her face, he smiled anyway. "Hello," he said. The hobbit lass tried to make out his face as well, but the red glare of the setting sun obscured everything but his silhouette. "Hello," she answered. And then she was gone, sprinting away towards the sound of galloping hooves and the creaking of a cart.


	2. The New Neighbors

# PART I: BUCKLAND

### The New Neighbors

Merry Brandybuck heard the news while sitting on a comfortable chair in a section of Brandy Hall the grownups allowed their children to wander. He was resting his legs after roaming about the hills all day, when his father's strong voice drifted to him from an adjacent room. 

Out of habit, Merry strained his ears to listen, but it seemed Saradoc Brandybuck was simply going about the usual business - and gossip - of his land as he told two other hobbits about a new family settling down in Bucklebury, a village situated at the foot of Buck Hill. Since it wasn't unusual for hobbit families to move around, this piece of news held little interest to Merry at first. Something else about his father's tale did finally peak his interest, however. 

"You would never guess where they come from," his father said. "Not from Hobbiton or even Greenfield. No, they don't come from any of the four Farthings." 

A low string of murmurs followed his words. The Shire was divided into four Farthings west of the Brandywine River. If the new family didn't come from any of those four, then they were not from the Shire. And all respectable hobbits lived in the Shire, as far as Merry knew. 

"Where from, then?" one of the hobbits asked. 

"Bree." Saradoc dropped the name most carefully. 

Merry puffed out his round cheeks and stuck his ear to the door to be as close to the conversation as he could get. Bree was a town beyond the Eastern border of the Shire, where Big People abounded. 

"That is not all," Saradoc continued. "The smial they chose to settle in is that old hole at the border of the village that no one's wanted for years." 

Merry nodded to himself; he knew which hole his father was talking about. It was a tumbledown place full of weeds and wild flowers. Some kids even said it was haunted. 

"You'd think these Bree-landers could afford something better than that dump down in Bucklebury," one of his father's companions said.

"I do not know why you would assume hobbits from the outside should all possess riches. In all my years here as the Master of Buckland, I've only seen two hobbits coming from Bree, and they both came down for business. Never to settle down, of course. In both cases, I never got an estimate of their real wealth." 

The other hobbit made a reproving sound with his tongue. "Tsk! People from the outside cannot be trusted! Who knows what troubles they may bring with them?" 

Saradoc waved an impatient hand. "We Brandybucks are open-minded folk. I shall go down to welcome them personally on the 'morrow." 

Upon hearing the last decree, Merry's heart beat with real excitement for the first time since he woke that morning. Detaching his ear from the door, Merry left the Hall and walked out into the evening air. He had to find out what this mysterious new family was all about! Not later, but right that instant. But as luck would have it, his mother caught him sneaking out the door and ordered him back inside to wash up and get ready for dinner. 

"But mother! I just need to be somewhere for a short while. I'll be right back, I promise!"

"No, Meriadoc. Your 'right back' usually takes hours. Come inside and wash your hands. Don't make me say it again!" 

Merry didn't hide his disappointment, making quite a show of dragging his feet, but he complied with his mother's request with all the childish reluctance he could muster. A good night's sleep almost had Merry forgetting about his newfound purpose, if not for Frodo coming to bear the same news that Merry already knew. 

Frodo was Merry's closest friend in Buckland. He was a bright lad with round cheeks and soft dark curls falling over blues eyes that always seemed wide with wonder and curiosity, giving him a pensive aura that made him seem older than his years. In reality, he was only older than Merry by a year, but often taunted his friend with it, saying Merry should listen to him since he was older. Merry rarely did, of course. No, Merry didn't have the habit of listening to anyone. 

Upon hearing Frodo's story of the newcomers, Merry remembered his own plans. "Right! Shall we go pay them a visit?" 

Frodo paused. "I don't know if that's such a good idea. I hear they are not from the Shire. They must have come a long way." 

"Come on, Frodo! The fact that they are not from here makes it all the more exciting!"

With a bit of persuasion, and the promise that Frodo would get access to his secret stash of snacks any time he wanted, the two hobbits made their way to Bucklebury village. By that time of the morning, the residents of Bucklebury were starting to come out of their smials to enjoy breakfast outside, tend to their gardens, or look after the animals. The smell of grilling bacon hit them square in the nose … and in the gut. Though he just had breakfast, Merry found his stomach grumbling again. 

They walked past animated streets filled with lively voices and the grunt of pigs, and came to a quieter area of the village at the edge of the big fields. Behind a battered fence in much need of proper care, stood the run-down smial everyone had been talking about. 

Weeds and wild flowers invaded what once used to be a front yard. Moss and lichen had set their roots into the walls, as though the hill from which the hole was dug had been in the process of reabsorbing it. The only visible window had no pane of glass. Frodo stopped walking when they reached the opposite side of the road facing the smial, and cautioned his younger and overeager friend with a raised hand. Merry only wrinkled his little nose, scanning the dark window and closed door. 

"Do you think there's anyone there? I don't see a thing," Merry said in a low voice. Indeed, the place appeared deserted, but for a cart near the door and an old, road-weary pony attached to a wooden post on the dilapidated fence. 

Merry and Frodo were not the only ones roaming about the place. Other curious hobbits had also assembled to try and catch a glimpse of their mysterious new neighbors. 

"Father says they come from Bree," Merry whispered. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to keep his voice down, but it seemed to fit the atmosphere. 

Frodo nodded, his blue eyes wide. "That's what I've heard, also." 

"I've explored that smial before when it was still deserted," Merry confessed. "It's both small and dirty! I wonder how many hobbits you can fit—?" 

"You kids should not be here!" An older hobbit, with a head of white hair and feet to match, came toward them with a scowl. "Shoo, shoo! Go play somewhere else!" 

Frodo nodded obediently, but not Merry. He pouted, stuck out his bottom lip in anger, and crossed his arms over his chest as if daring the white-haired hobbit to make him leave. Before the old hobbit could meet Merry's dare with a well-placed smack at the back of the head, Frodo seized his friend's arm and dragged him away in spite of his protesting cries, only letting him go when they were almost at the marketplace. "Oh, quiet down, Merry. You know grownups will never leave us alone once we've been spotted." 

"Buggers," Merry muttered. "We didn't get to see a thing!" "It's all right. We'll run into them sooner or later," Frodo said and tried to placate his friend with a smile. 

Merry was about to say something, probably another protest, when something made him pause. He leapt from the road to hide behind a dense row of hedge. He motioned eagerly for Frodo to do the same, though the older hobbit looked at him in puzzlement for a second before complying. They crouched on their hands and knees on a carpet of mud and rotting leaves behind the hedge, sweating from all the commotion. 

Frodo would have asked for an explanation for his friend's behavior, but just then, he heard it, too. The sound of many footsteps coming their way. Soon enough, Merry's father, followed by a few other hobbits, passed them by and headed in direction of the new neighbors' house. 

Just as quickly as he hid, Merry sprung from behind the hedges. "Come on, Frodo!" he beckoned and started trailing his father. 

Frodo followed after Merry. His mother had told him not to go bother the new neighbours, but curiosity was getting the best of him. Just a little peak for now, he thought. 

Frodo and Merry caught up with Saradoc's company and hid behind the row of curious adults. No one paid them any heed, for all their attention was focused on the smial standing beyond the fence. The old pony neighed nervously at the sight of so many people, and swatted a fly away from its flank. Saradoc pushed the gate open, wincing when it creaked ominously in the sudden silence that had fallen over the company. His feet rustled through the tall weeds of the yard as he crossed it to reach the front door. 

The door, round in the usual custom of hobbit holes, was weather-beaten, with red paint peeling and cracking in several places. He raised his fist and gave three energetic knocks. When only silence greeted them, the hobbits behind Saradoc grew restless, shuffling their feet and murmuring amongst themselves. Saradoc cleared his throat and knocked again. They heard a ruckus inside, like furniture being pushed around, followed by a series of strange jingling sounds. Then, the door began to open. Every hobbit in Buckland, or so it seemed, followed its slow opening with wide eyes and baited breaths. Out came a slim looking hobbit with deep black eyes. 

Frodo sneaked in between two adults to get a better view, with Merry two steps behind. He craned his neck and finally managed to get a good view of the new hobbit. Though at first look he seemed to be in his mid-forties, he could easily have been ten years younger or older, for his features were common and smooth and did not reveal much. He had the kind of face one glimpsed in the crowd and then easily forgot. A white shirt and black trousers hung to his scrawny frame. The clothes were well worn but not dirty. His eyes raked over Saradoc from head to toe. "Yes?" 

It was unusual to see a hobbit as thin as this one, but his unconventional appearance didn't deter Saradoc from offering him the well-known hospitality of hobbits. He stuck out a hand in greeting and offered a merry smile. "Hello! My name is Saradoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland. I simply wanted to personally welcome you to this part of the Shire, and perhaps see if you need any help with settling down." 

The other took it after a moment of consideration, and gave it a brief shake. "Yes, thank you. Marroc Brandybuck is what they call me." 

The mention of the family name stirred up the hobbits in earshot and they began another round of mad whispering. 

Frodo leaned close to Merry and whispered too with his hand to his mouth, "Merry! He said 'Brandybuck'! Must be a relative of yours. Have you ever heard of him?" 

Without looking away from the newcomer, Merry whispered back, "Of course not. The Brandybuck name goes back generations. He could be related to half the Shire for all I know." 

Saradoc was as surprised as everyone else. "Brandybuck? Then we must be family! How can this be? We thought you came from the Big Outside!" 

Marroc's annoyed gaze circled across the crowd before settling on Saradoc once more. He shrugged. "My ancestors must have been from around here then. As far as I know, my parents and grandparents have all lived in Bree. It is nice to meet some of my distant relatives. 

Frodo chuckled and said to Merry, "So he says, but he doesn't look too happy, though." 

Saradoc cleared his throat. "Well, I am so happy to have come down here to greet you in person. Most happy indeed! I hope we will get to know each other better, as I find this unexpected turn of events most enchanting." 

Marroc gave a curt nod and closed the door an inch. "Right. Most enchanting indeed." 

Before he could close the door all the way, a young boy poked his head out from behind him. At the sight of him, Merry pushed Frodo aside for a better view. "There's a lad!" The boy eyed the people gathered outside with wide eyes. 

Saradoc's face lit up with a wondrous smile and he indicated the boy with an open hand of friendship. "Ah, and who is this?" 

"Robin!" Marroc said in surprise. "What are you doing? Go back inside!" 

"Come on, come on! Why don't you introduce us?" Saradoc finished with his smile directed at the boy. 

Robin kept his place behind Marroc, his gaze jumping from his father to the stranger at their door. 

"Tsk," Marroc let out as he took the boy's arm and brought him to the open where nearly every hobbit in town got a good look at him. Frodo thought the lad could not have been older than ten or eleven, and rather tall for his age. He was almost the spitting image of his father, with black curly hair falling over dark eyes. He cowered in front of the crowd, looking down at the ground as though he wanted to dig a hole into which he could disappear. 

"This is my son, Robin," Marroc said. Saradoc beamed at the boy. 

"Nice to meet you, Robin! I have a son myself. He is probably a little younger than you, but you lads should get along." Robin gave Saradoc a hesitant smile, which quickly faltered when his father tightened his hold on his shoulder. 

The gesture didn't escape Frodo's notice. It almost seemed as though his father wasn't pleased to have him make friends with Merry. He turned to Merry to convey this observation, but Merry was still beaming, oblivious to what Frodo had picked up upon. Or perhaps the boy was just nervous of the crowd and Frodo was overthinking things, like he had a tendency of doing on occasion. 

"We still have a lot to do," Marroc said, pointing out the still unloaded cart. His harsh tone indicated the visit was over. 

"Of course, of course!" Saradoc said. "If you need any help—" 

"I do not think we will." 

"Yes … well, in that case, I suppose I will let you work." Marroc guided his son inside and closed the door before Saradoc could finish speaking. 

"Not too welcoming," one of the hobbits said into the ensuing silence. 

"Nonsense!" Saradoc said, turning to face his companions, his hands tucked in his vest pockets confidently. "He is not yet used to being in a new place. After a few ales, I bet he will let his guard down. No hobbit can resist a good pint." 

Merry turned to Frodo. "Did you see? I've been so bored this summer but now I will get to show him around Buckland!" 

Frodo nodded and smiled, as excited as Merry. For a fact, the boy seemed to be closer to his age than Merry's. But… "His dad sure is scary!" 

"His dad?" Merry said with a frown. "Who cares about his dad. Frodo, we have to find a way to talk to Robin!" 

Frodo laughed at Merry's enthusiasm and gave him a light, playful shove. "He might not want to be friends with you. You are a troublemaker. I think he'll be better off with me!" 

Merry cackled, actually quite proud of his troublemaker status. "But you won't go around telling him that, will you?" 

"What if I do?" 

"Then I'll tell your parents of the time you stole my cousin Berilac's lunch, and he blamed it on me, and then we fought, and then we both got punished!" 

"You still remember that? You were only six!" 

Merry crossed his little arms. "I never forget your wrongdoings, especially when I'm the victim! This is how it is. So, deal?" 

Frodo stared at Merry's impish smile for a second before relenting. "All right, I will remember to depict you in a positive light if ever I become friends with the lad." 

For days after, Frodo and Merry watched Robin helping his father clean up the smial, pulling up weeds and repairing the fence. They could never find a way to approach him. The day Marroc bought a new windowpane to install on the smial's only window, Frodo and Merry tried several times to beckon Robin over to their cover in the grassy field beside the house. He either didn't notice them or pretended he didn't. 

Frodo and Merry then meant to intercept him on the road to the market, but his father never let him venture that far. After a few weeks of unsuccessful attempts, Merry started to lose interest. His attention deviated to something more fun than keeping watch over another hobbit under a beating sun. 

Frodo, on the other hand, started to find Robin's behavior rather odd. Talking about it with his parents one night, Primula said she would attempt to find more information about the newcomers. She asked around the neighborhood, the fields and the market, but people didn't really have a lot to say about Marroc or his son. Some labeled him suspicious, as Marroc was so unlike normal hobbit folk. An inconspicuous man he was, who only left his smial twice a week to buy food and smoking leaf. Sometimes others saw him at one of the inns ordering ale, but he always drank alone. "If you try to approach him," they said, "he'll send you on your way with an ugly glare." 

Frodo found the lack of tangible details disappointing, but there was not much he could do about it. He continued his watch over their renovations. 

After some more cleaning and sprucing, the new inhabitants' smial finally began to look as if it housed people rather than weeds and wild animals. Once all the work had been complete, Robin rarely came out of the house. 

Towards the end of July, Frodo too began to lose interest in the matter. Besides, Merry had told him, cheeks red with anticipation, that his cousin and favorite buddy Pippin would be coming to Brandy Hall for a summer stay. When Merry and Pippin were together, Frodo knew troubles wouldn't lie too far ahead, although they weren't always of the bad variety. 

As the summer day stretched to an end, Merry and Frodo separated at the foot of Buck Hill after playing by the river. They made their goodbyes and Frodo turned toward home, but as soon as Merry disappeared over the hill, Frodo doubled back in the opposite direction. He had begun to feel the urge to spy on Robin again; though, he hadn't said so to Merry. His friend had moved on to bigger and better pursuits, like catching bullfrogs and following ants. Frodo had followed along, doing much of the same, but today he had a feeling he might luck out if he went to keep watch over the new Brandybucks. Frodo began walking to the smial at the edge of the village at a brisk pace. 

He had found a good spot on top of a small hill the last time he and Merry spied together. It offered a diving view of what was going on outside the smial. The tree on top of the hill provided good shade on hot summer afternoons such as this. Frodo settled in his usual spot, lying down on his belly under the tree and watching the lack of activity around the house. He had never known such sedentary hobbits. Were Bree-folk all like them? How could Robin, young and very much a hobbit no matter where he came from, stay clustered inside all day? Were Frodo in Robin's place, he would surely suffocate. 

With nothing interesting going on in the Brandybuck home and the warm breeze wafting over him, Frodo fell his eyes drooping in spite of his best efforts to keep them open. With the cicadas singing their continuous tune, sleep finally overtook him. 

Much later, he awoke with a startle when the sun had already begun to set behind the hills, tainting the skies orange and amber to the west. "Frodo! You sleepyhead!" he face-palmed his own forehead in annoyance at his wasted day. Under the dusky skies, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and decided he better get home before mother sent out a search party. 

Throwing a last glance at the house down the hill before he headed home, Frodo came to a standstill. He spied something. 

A movement. 

No, a shadow. 

Yes, the shadow of a person was crouched down a few yards from the front door of the smial. They seemed to be rooting around for something on the ground. 

Intrigued, Frodo crawled down from his surveillance spot and dived into the field of tall grass which ran along the west side of their house, and silently made his way to their front yard. It was getting darker by the minute and Frodo hastened his pace. He drew as close as he dared, parting the grass just enough to peer through. 

The figure's small size indicated it was a child. So, it had to be Robin, though the growing darkness blurred his features. He was crouched down, playing in the mud. Frodo made out striped pants over a loose shirt as the lad shuffled on the ground, building towers of mud. He was alone. Frodo's heart started pounding. He'd never been this close to him before! With some luck, he'd be able to talk to him tonight. 

He shuffled closer within the grass field. The figure turned his head and Frodo paused when he saw long curls held in a ponytail. 

This wasn't Robin. It was a lass! 

Frodo's mind reeled in confusion. But it couldn't be a lass. Lasses wore dresses, and this hobbit was clad in pants, and pants were only for boys! Or so he'd always thought. But how would he explain the ponytail? Only lasses had long hair. 

The front door opened, interrupting his thoughts and saving his brain from an imminent explosion due to all the contradictory information. Another small figure stepped out into the yard. "Allie, that's enough," Robin's voice said, his face a mask of shadow in the dim light of dusk. "Come back in now." 

Allie. So she was a girl. 

She threw down the ball of mud in her hand. "Just a few more minutes, all right?" She had a quiet but clear voice. 

"No, that is enough for today. Come in now!" 

For a moment, she hung her head and said nothing. Then, she took her time to stand from the muddy ground. "Just give me a minute." 

And then she ran toward the field. Toward Frodo. Frodo's eyes widened with a look of alarm. He let the grass draw closed like a curtain and backed carefully away. She came so close to his hiding place that he could hear her panting softly from her short dash. Grass came neatly away in a small patch from the ground near him, causing a small breach Frodo could see through in the fading light. He watched the lass wipe mud from her hands with the handful of weeds, then she threw them back into the field. 

The blades of grass twirled in the air, some of them landing on his upturned face. When he looked back in the direction of the lass, he froze like a statue.

She had her gaze on him. 

Wild curls framed a face with eyes that reflected the last rays of light in the gathering dark. Frodo couldn't tell whether she was looking at him, or only looking in his direction. "Allie!" Robin called again. "Coming...," she answered after a moment. She then turned away and ran back to the house. 

Frodo remained in his crouched position long after the door had closed behind Robin and this new addition to the Brandybuck family. Afraid to move, he wondered what had just unfolded before his eyes, and what it all meant.


End file.
